


Let Me Out, Let Me In

by Unloyal_Olio



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Foster Care, Homophobic Language, Loneliness, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Touch-Starved, Werewolf Hunters, mattress humping, snow fights, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unloyal_Olio/pseuds/Unloyal_Olio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t laugh,” Isaac whispers. “You’re all I have.” </p><p>The laugh cuts off, and Derek stares. “Which is the problem.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Out, Let Me In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohmyjetsabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyjetsabel/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to OMJ (yes, it's your new moniker)! ...because she's had life suck these past few months, and at one point she was lamenting the lack of Isaac/Derek because of the _potential_. Anyway, LOOK AT THE TAGS, m'dear -- I tried to pull from all the candy bins.
> 
> And as always, ElleCC beta'd this because she is a superhero.
> 
> A few facts:
> 
> This begins just after the crazy omega knocks Isaac and the excavator into the grave in Season 2. Afterward the story more or less follows the season—and then goes canon divergent. The alpha pack never begins its Reign of Terror because there is never a scene in which Isaac pleads, “Derek, Derek, do something,” over and over again—because that DESTROYS MY HEART.
> 
> In canon, Isaac’s brother Camden died in the Army. He is listed as being the same age (24) as the other swim teamers. Also, in canon, Derek is allegedly 23 or so. Therefore, I decided they were pals.

/ / / Beacon Hills Graveyard

“Need a hand?”

Isaac is crouched six feet under. The night’s chill is a laugh of the wind as he gasps for air and tries to wipe sediment off his cracked lips. Isaac's feet boil; his skin feels baked in the merciless dirt kiln. And now someone is offering him a _hand._

The crazy part of Isaac wants to ask, _If I give you my hand, will you eat it?_ But that’s… That is _not_ what you say to people. Especially cannibals. Isaac forces his eyes up the grave walls to the too-green cemetery grass to the man now crouched and looming like a gargoyle.

“I knew your brother,” the man says, then, “Hello, Isaac.”

Pinching dirt out of his lashes, Isaac scoots back enough that he can make out the moonlit face. His first thought is _dangerous._ His second thought is _uh, sorta hot_. His third is a pang of recognition. It’s the straight nose and the thick, dark hair that bring Isaac back to empty summer days when Camden was alive and funny and an overprotective bully and C- stupid, and his friends Paul and Derek used to hog the Xbox.

“Deh—” Isaac hacks out a stinging, relieved cough. “Derek? Derek _Hale_?”

Derek nods, expressionless. “Give me your hand.” His mouth and the contours of his body are different but it’s definitely his brother’s friend. Isaac remembers him smiling all the time, always a bit cocky as he tossed a damn basketball or tennis ball or an eraser like he couldn’t contain his energy. Only, this Derek stands with island stillness. It’s like all of that ping-ping-ping power of the past is now solar-charged in those delts and broad pectorals. This is a changed person, Isaac calculates, like how everything has changed: _Camden died in Iraq_. _The Hale house burned_. _Dad put a lock on the ice chest and said:_ it's for your own good.

“You’re okay,” Derek says, and his hands are so firm. Warm. And Derek is not Isaac’s brother. He’s not Camden. But when he starts to withdraw his hands, Isaac doesn’t want to release them.

“I’m not.” Isaac never is. But today has been worse than normal. “I’m not. There was a thing out there. It pushed over the excavator. We need to leave.”

Derek stares at him. Isaac swears his eyebrows flex. “It’s gone.”

“I want to puke,” Isaac says, except that he won’t. Nothing in his stomach. He skipped dinner so he wouldn’t have to see his dad.

“You’re okay.”

Isaac shakes his head. “Oh God.” He clutches Derek harder. This is so weird. Isaac was supposed to finish his late shift and get home in time to do his essay for English. Instead, he’s hugging his brother’s long-lost best friend in the middle of a cemetery. Isaac doesn’t hug anyone. Isaac doesn’t touch anyone.

“You shouldn’t be out here. You’re—what? A junior? You have class tomorrow.”

“Camden died,” Isaac says even though Derek knows.

“We should get you home.”

/ / / Lahey House

Derek walks Isaac to his front door. Isaac is so focused on the fact that the light in the upstairs bedroom is _out_ that he doesn’t stop Derek from brushing past him. Derek is _sniffing_ , which is weird, but it’s even weirder when Derek charges for the basement. After he pounds down the steps, he zeroes in on the ice chest. Isaac is still standing at the top of the stairs when Derek lifts a chain and judges, “Your father.”

Isaac’s dad wasn’t like he is now when Derek knew him, which doesn’t mean he was perfect, but he was just a hardass in the way that a lot of dads are. Isaac remembers his dad ribbing Derek for choosing lacrosse over swim team. “He hasn’t been the same since Camden—or my mom, which was… because of Camden.”

Derek eyes are locked on Isaac’s hands. “Take off your gloves.”

Isaac thinks about denying it. He thinks about telling Derek that he fights back (he doesn’t (that only makes it worse)). Instead, he pulls off his gloves. His fingertips sting as a few scabs break lose. Isaac never feels the pain when he’s in there, scratching and clawing. The terror turns him black.

“Come down the stairs,” Derek says. He pulls out his key chain, holding up what looks like a small box cutter. “I need you to watch this.”

“Watch what?” Isaac is taking one step at a time when Derek rolls up his right sleeve and slices a red line across his forearm. “Jesus—what do you think you’re—”

Derek shoves Isaac’s hands away, and then spitting on the wound, he rubs away the blood. The wound is a thin, pink line that’s already fading. The skin is knitting up before Isaac’s eyes.

“What—how did you?” Isaac leans forward to look. He rubs his fingers over the skin and wonders that he isn’t completely freaking out over this.

But then Isaac has lots of memories of Derek Hale. Like that time when Camden and Derek and Paul were playing Knockout on the concrete driveway, but Paul went inside to pee and Camden decided to get water. Derek stayed out, dribbling the ball and taking shots. Isaac looked up from _The Magician's Nephew_ in time to see Derek leap off the ground—like he was Neo at the end of the _Matrix_ —and slam the basketball through the hoop with so much force that the whole pole wobbled and swirled like a bendy straw instead of galvanized steel. When Derek’s gaze met Isaac’s, he was holding a finger over his lips. “Shhh,” he’d whispered, all teeth.

There’s the other memory, too. Of Camden getting drunk and telling Isaac that, “Bissie is a bitch” (because Bissie had dumped his ass), and Derek was over, and yeah, Derek had some vodka, too, but it didn’t affect him the way it did Camden. Derek told Isaac to go away, and Isaac went down the steps so that they couldn’t see him—though, he could see _them_ through the crack between the rails.

What Isaac didn’t expect was his brother to say, “Let’s watch porn.”

Isaac had not moved. No, he had not. And he almost missed it. Because of the two men on the screen with the woman. She was gorgeous, clad in white furs and creamy pearls, and Isaac was mesmerized by the way the man shoved up her knee-length lace dress and spread her legs wide and just shoved his dick into the fat of her thighs like it was nothing. The woman squealed, and Isaac was instantly hard, and then he was surprised, like, jaw-on-the-floor, when the other man didn’t focus on the woman at all. He started fingering the other man’s ass, and then he was throwing the man down on the floor and it was—Isaac didn’t _know_.

That his brother whipped out his junk and was jacking off wasn’t surprising. Camden jacked off all the time. He wouldn’t shut up about it. What was weird was that Derek was next to him.

Well, then Isaac was wondering if Derek had _his_ out too when the couch pillows shifted, the shadows changed, and Isaac nearly slid off his step as Camden’s elbow came up at an angle, wiggling with fast jerks over Derek’s _lap_ while Derek’s mouth hung open, almost like he was scared.

Camden said something like, “I’m sorry about Paige.” He scraped his bottom lip up Derek’s cheek. His arm never stopped moving.

Derek’s head was arched back, teeth gritted as he said, “Screw you. I hate you.”

“You wish you hated me,” Camden said and got off the couch. He put his head between Derek’s legs, dragging his chin down Derek’s quads. Isaac heard the metal clinking of a buckle jangling all the way to the floor. Then Camden’s head was bobbing up and down, and Derek’s hands were _not_ pushing him away. Instead, they dug into Camden’s hair, his long silky cinnamon strands, and they combed and scratched and kneaded even after the scene on the video was long finished (and even after Isaac was wiping his hand on his own shirt). When it was over—after Derek jerked up with taut shoulders—Derek wiped his thumb over Camden’s lips.

Then Isaac’s brother collapsed in Derek’s lap, his whole body shaking. Derek never pushed him away.

A couple months later the Hale house burned.

Isaac understood what happened the following year, when his dad called his brother a _faggot cunt shit_ and wouldn’t stop screaming. Mom told Dad to _leave Camden alone_ —and Camden got into UCLA with a partial basketball scholarship but then didn’t go because Dad wouldn’t cosign the loan. And Mom would have, but Camden joined the Army before anyone could stop him. After basic, Uncle Sam sent him straight to somewhere in Afghanistan—and there was a roadside bomb and—and Isaac didn’t have a brother anymore.

A week after the funeral, Isaac’s mom wrote a note to his dad: “I’ll never forgive you.”

For the note under Isaac’s pillow, she wrote, “I’ll never forgive myself. Sorry, baby.”

She stole his dad’s Old Thunderbird and drove it up the Sierra Nevada until she swerved off an overpass in a blaze of pink sunset. Sometimes when Isaac was locked in the ice chest and his father was raging upstairs, Isaac would think-whisper, “ _Mom, Mom, Mom_ ,” over and over again like he could chant her out of the ground, as if he could take her final act of bravery and resurrect the sentiment in himself.

It never worked.

Anyway, when Derek says, “I’m a werewolf,” Isaac doesn't laugh. He doesn't worry it’s a hallucination. If anything, Isaac feels the edges of his world suddenly sharpen.

 _This,_ he knows, is straight out of a comic book. This is like wings erupting from the Thunderbird’s passenger doors before his mom hits the ground. This is his brother finding a magical rainbow basketball that spits out dollar bills. This is Isaac’s dad unable to spew hatred without the words popping like bubbles. _This_ doesn't happen. Not to Isaac.

“I’m in,” Isaac says. “Give me fangs.” And wings. And a way out of the dark. A key to the padlock.

Rather anticlimactically, Derek proceeds to talk like a lawyer for ten minutes. About hunters. About control on the full moon. Duh, it’s not perfect. Isaac isn’t stupid. There’s always a catch. But Isaac is willing to pay any price.

At last, they go out on the back porch. Derek brings Isaac close like it’s another hug except Isaac feels Derek's body shift. Muscles ripple beneath his fingers as Derek snaps and growls; Isaac shivers from the sudden prickling of claws on his shoulders. Pain slices at the back of his neck, and Isaac is dry heaving but Derek is shushing him, wiping the seepage from Isaac’s eyes, and saying, “You’re okay. We’re in this together,” and Isaac nods through the lightheadedness and looks at the black sky with pin-prick stars. The wind rustles the front of Derek’s shirt, and Isaac ducks his head and smiles.

With each second, Derek’s scent sweetens.

/ / /

Isaac does not have a home. He’s a fugitive. The world thinks he’s a murderer. He might care except he’s free. And he has Derek. They scout places to live, and when they find the old train depot, Derek worries, “It might be too enclosed.”

Isaac shakes his head. “No, the trains have glass windows. Just imagine them back on the rails. They could go _anywhere_.”

The first night, after some were-lizard murders his dad and none of it feels real—Isaac can’t sleep in his bunk. He’s too tense, like his intestines are twisted in knots looping all the way up the back of his throat. He wants to shred something. He misses his mother again. He finds Derek curled up in his bed with an open newspaper spread out over his pillow.

“Any news?”

Derek looks up and stares at Isaac. His eyes have gold kernels from the depot’s lantern lights. They look extra green. _Calm_ , Isaac thinks. Derek pats the spot next to him and turns back to his paper. “It’s okay if you need to be close. We’re pack. It’s instinct.”

For a minute, Isaac stares at the spot. He thinks, _It’s not up against the wall._ He thinks, _Derek could hold me there._ He’s stronger. But then Derek yawns. Squinting softly, the corner of Derek’s mouth turns up like whatever he’s reading is terribly stupid and predictable. Isaac finds himself yawning in turn, and well, then Derek looks so _warm_. When Isaac was trapped—when he couldn’t get away—it was a cold void. Never warm.

Isaac crawls right in.

It’s okay when Derek wraps an arm around him. It’s okay when Derek keeps reading and says, “Apparently, terrariums are a great way to spruce up a home.”

Isaac snorts, twisting his head to catch a glimpse of the page. “Terrariums? Like those soda bottle gardens that you make in third grade?”

“Yep. My mom used to have one. In a _cloche_.” Derek’s brow is arched so high. This close, it’s so thick that Isaac wants to trace it.

But that might make Derek smack his hand away. Isaac couldn’t handle that, so he yanks a pillow free, pounding on the center to make a good indent. “I think we’d be better off with a pull-up bar and a beanie bag. Maybe a trampoline.”

“I already ordered the pull up bar. We could get a beanie bag. Let me know what color you want. No trampoline. We’re not the fucking circus.”

“It’d be awesome to do trapeze.” Isaac smiles, nose wedged in Derek’s arm pit.

He doesn’t get an answer. The newspaper crackles from being refolded, and Isaac drifts to sleep.

/ / /

It’s not just Isaac. There’s Erica and Boyd, too. It’s funny, because when they’re around, Derek is different. He isn’t cold, exactly, but he is oddly professional.

Derek is teaching them all to fight. Isaac loves it. Boyd is a wrecking ball. Erica is fucking rikki tikki tavi with her hissing and fast whipping hair, and Derek—Derek is just cannon fire and wind past your fingertips and _again_.

He breaks Isaac’s arm with a crack, yet Isaac doesn’t shrink from it. Because it’s different from Isaac’s dad. Exactly how, Isaac can’t say. There’s the healing, sure. His arm doesn’t even hurt after five minutes. And becoming a werewolf has erased the scabs and scars from his fingers so there’s the sense that is _new_. But it’s more than that: Isaac can read Derek’s moods like they’re his own. Derek has limits. Derek wants them all to learn.

So it’s all adventure until Derek swaggers with a “surprise me,” and Erica _jumps_ him.

There are two paralyzed seconds where Derek lets her, where Erica’s blonde mane is begging for the wring of Derek’s hands, and her chin is a sweet bob as she pushes deep into Derek’s mouth. Isaac blusters as he sees the bulge of her tongue sweep along the _inside_ of Derek’s cheek.

It’s a gigantic fucking relief when Derek chucks her off like a sack of hay. And then Derek is talking, he’s lecturing them about the full moon, and Isaac is just…

Isaac is pissed. He can’t look at Erica without wanting to open her neck. But she just did _that_.

Without permission.

She’s not supposed to do that. Not supposed to get that close.

Only Isaac is allowed.

/ / /

When the police label Matt as the culprit and Isaac is in the clear for his dad’s murder, Derek tells Isaac he has to go to school again—which means he has to get back into the system. Isaac has an aunt in Florida with three kids. It’s his dad’s sister, and he’s met her twice in his entire life. Considering the whole werewolf thing, he doesn’t want to move to suburban Florida. And based on their clipped phone call, he’s pretty sure his aunt still thinks he helped Matt murdered his dad. “I wouldn't blame you, you know,” she says coldly.

Isaac submits a petition for emancipation.

The social worker who reviews his case just laughs. She’s dressed in an enormous green sweatshirt and smells like cheese. “You don’t have a job. You’ve missed half of your junior semester. Your dad was brutally murdered with you being the accused. No, I don’t think so.”

Isaac is dressed in a stupid suit with an even stupider tie. He knows he’s supposed to be making a good first impression, but he can’t help but bristle. “You can’t stop me from submitting the petition.”

“Nope, but I know what the judge will say. That’s why I’m submitting my recommendation for foster care.” She’s writing on her notepad like it’s a _lesson_ , like Isaac is a stupid kid and he deserves every second of his misfortune.

“I have a friend who can be my guardian.”

She doesn’t even look up. “And does he have a job? A home with four walls? Health insurance?”

“How about this: he’s someone who _cares_.” Without waiting for more of her crap, Isaac storms out of the office.

/ / /

When Isaac’s petition fails, he is assigned to a woman named Delilah Bowles.

“You need to at least meet with her. Maybe you can negotiate with her.” Derek flips the page. He’s reading up on the latest Dodgers game.

Isaac thumps down on the mattress harder than necessary. “Yeah, she gets my social security checks. It’s great.”

“It might be nice, you know. Nicer than here.”

Isaac elbows him. “It won’t be.”

Derek frowns at the elbow but doesn’t move away. “Our plumbing is touch and go.”

Now that he has Derek’s attention, Isaac pushes the paper away. “Maybe, but it smells like home here.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth turns up even as he says, “You’re going.”

Isaac leans back. He both _likes_ Derek’s tone, its authority, and dislikes its direction. He whispers, “What if I hate it?”

Derek shoves him. “Then you hate it until your grades go up, you get a job, and you get the judge to sign your petition. It will be okay.”

If it is, it’ll only be because Derek has his back. “Stop trying to act like you’re the boss of me.” Isaac tries to grab Derek’s wrist—Derek easily evades him.

“I’m your alpha. I am your boss.”

“Not the same.” Isaac swipes the newspaper out of Derek’s grasp, crunching it as he rolls.

With a growl, Derek grabs Isaac by the hair and yanks him down.

Isaac’s lips are smashed into the pillow. “Hair pulling is not fair.” Isaac tries to kick, which only makes Derek laugh.

The laugh stops when Isaac sends a fist at his face.

Derek blocks the punch too easily. “I keep telling you there’s no such thing as fair.” And then he knees Isaac so hard in the stomach that he crashes into the other side of the train car.

Isaac unhappily swallows down a gross heave of acid and crunchy bits. “Dammit, Derek, I just ate a whole bag of Ranchero Doritos.”

Derek thrusts a finger at his now balled up newspaper. “And your ass just put a hole in the sports section.”

“You already know they lost.”

“Yes, but I wanted to know _how_.”

Isaac is ready for it when Derek charges at him. He rolls, trying to escape, but there’s the part of him that doesn’t really want to—that relishes the attention. So he ends up on his stomach, with heat blossoming on his cheeks and his alpha’s red eyes huffing an inch from his. Oh, and Isaac is hard. With Derek on top of him.

When he and Erica and Boyd get the bloodlust, they laugh it off. Isaac will say, _Come on, Boyd, I can handle one monster—not two_. Or with Erica, she’ll bitch, _It’s not my fault if you trip on that while I’m kicking your ass._ They acknowledge it and move the fuck on.

But not Derek.

Derek doesn't get hard when he fights. Ever. And when he does get hard, from a movie or a fleeting thought, there are no jokes. It’s something Isaac can’t really miss, living like they do: Derek doesn’t touch himself. He just lets his dick fucking roast on the spit.

Isaac wonders if it’s because of Camden. Or maybe Paige. Or maybe because of what happened to his family. Death, Isaac thinks, is what they have in common. Everyone they love has been ripped away.

It’s no surprise when Derek rolls off of him. He says, “Don’t worry about the foster care crap. You have a pack that’s looking out for you. You’re never alone. You’re never trapped.”

Isaac nods.

Derek goes and picks up his paper, smoothing out the edges with a glare in Isaac’s direction. But he’s not really mad. He’s never mad at Isaac.

Sometimes, Isaac almost wishes he were.

“I guess I should do homework,” Isaac says even though that’s not remotely what he’s going to do. Instead, he goes to his bunk and turns on the radio as loud as it will go. Tossing the sheets like a sail over his head, Isaac lets himself be blanketed. He lets the heat build around him. And then with his jeans cuffing his ankles and his hands on the headboard rails, he starts to move.

It makes the rails creak. Through the depot's thin steel walls, he knows Derek can hear the uptick of his heart, the bass groan of the box spring. As Isaac gives in to the friction, he wonders if Derek hates it. He wonders if it makes Derek think of Erica—if Isaac is another misbehaving beta. He wonders if Derek wonders if Isaac is doing this to get Derek’s attention (yes, no)— _shit_ —or if Isaac is just a dumb teenager who can’t contain himself. Or maybe, Derek thinks Isaac sounds _good_.

Isaac’s panting paints a wet spot in the pillow. He noses his cheek into it and thrusts down harder—rocks until his the skin on his hipbones sores—and imagines it’s a hot mouth on his neck. He imagines sharp teeth biting down on his ruff, and with a whimper drowned in quicksand pleasure, Isaac crashes down in one hard thrust. He lies there flexing his toes with the sheets caught between his teeth. He’s bound and tethered by the layers of light, easily shredded fabric, but it doesn’t scare him. Because Isaac is imagining a hot cage of arms, iron muscles.

It’s a cage he doesn’t want to escape.

/ / /

Dressed in a plaid shirt and ten-year-old jeans, Delilah Bowles has long hair that goes all the way down to her naval. She is a hunter.

Isaac figures this out when he knocks on the door and Chris Argent and _Allison_ are standing there at her side. If the social worker wasn’t standing at his back wearing a giant strawberry sweater and smelling today like vanilla pudding, Isaac would bolt.

“How about no?” Isaac says instead, turning to the social worker.

The social worker talks in that tone that pronounces Isaac is being _uncooperative_. “This is Ms. Delilah Bowles. Delilah, this is Isaac Lahey. He’s your charge.”

Delilah doesn’t smile or even hold out for a hand shake. “I’m happy for the responsibility.”

The _responsibility_ , oh here we go. Isaac picks up his cell. He needs to call Derek. Yesterday.

“Wait.” This time it’s Chris Argent who is grabbing his wrist.

Isaac considers flipping his wrist fast enough to break the grip—and Argent’s hand. Argent’s answering stare says he expects as much.

“Why don’t we all have some ginger tea?” Delilah says pointedly.

“As long as it isn’t mixed with monkshood,” Isaac mutters.

As they step into the living room, Allison leans in to whisper, “We follow the code. You’re safe.”

“Yeah… kind of like when you stabbed me twenty times.”

Well, then they all sit down. There’s awful small talk for two minutes before his social worker picks up her binder with the bullet list and goes on and on about _expectations_ and how Isaac needs to try and make up some classes and how education is his _priority_. Oh, and Isaac should go to grief counseling. Because.

“I’d prefer art therapy,” he counters. “Cartoons are my jam.”

After his social worker leaves, Isaac attempts to follow her, but Delilah says, “Stay, we want to talk.”

He hears no lie. It doesn’t mean anything.

At the slam of the door, Isaac bolts for the kitchen window—except that Allison is already on the other side, a silver arrow cocked in her bow.

Behind him, Delilah is saying something like, “Calm down.”

But Isaac can smell the odor of wolfsbane in Chris Argent’s pockets. His nostrils flare. His throat constricts. There is no stopping the wolf.

Unfortunately, they’re prepared. He’s not.

Light starbursts in his eyes. Isaac scrambles back with a howl. A stinging, stinking blanket of wolfsbane collapses over him. And he’s ripping at it—kicking and fighting—when the first dart stabs his arm.

His head is panging, and the room is swirling as he fades, but he thinks he hears Argent say, “Someone call Derek. Now.”

\ \ \

Isaac comes back to consciousness with the twin smells of Derek and wolfsbane in his nostrils. Derek is whispering, “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He is pressed into Derek’s side, and a hand is protectively wrapped around his arm.

Except then Isaac opens his eyes and sees Delilah and Chris Argent sitting on the opposite couch.

He jerks up with a growl.

Only to be yanked back. “Can it,” Derek snaps, and Derek’s read eyes bore into his. Isaac wants to protest—he wants to flee—he wants to fight—but Derek’s heart is steady, and the beta knows he can trust the alpha, so with a breath, Isaac forces himself to exhale.

“Good,” Derek says, and then he faces Argent. “But if you ever pull something like that again, I will tear you limb from limb.”

“Or we could do it now…” Isaac offers.

Everyone ignores him, and Argent says, “Allison explained about your dad. It was never our intention to make you feel trapped. We just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, talk.”

“It’s why we called Derek,” Delilah says.

“You should have called me yesterday,” Derek snaps.

Argent smiles in an ugly way. “Hindsight is 20/20.”

Derek glares at him with ruby beveled eyes, and uh, if looks could kill…

“As I have already discussed with Derek”—Delilah leans forward—“Isaac, we’re not separating you from your pack. Our goal is to protect the town and make sure you stay compliant with the code.”

“What a bummer, and I’d planned a murder spree as this semester’s extracurricular.”

Next to him, Derek rolls his eyes.

Delilah continues, “You are not required to eat here. However, I will provide meals. You are required to sleep here four out of five week nights.”

“Or not.” Isaac turns to Derek, expecting a smack down—instead, Derek is _shaking his head at Isaac_.

“It won’t be so bad.”

Isaac replays Derek’s words several times before saying, “No. And what the fuck? Did she put something in your drink? Seriously, Derek, you know what hunters are like—they killed your family.”

Derek’s jaw works, and he’s not looking at Isaac. “She has her reasons.”

Isaac wants to scream. He wants to punch something. He can’t look anyone in the eyes.

“As I was saying, you will keep your grades up,” Delilah says. “Before you were turned, you had a bright future.”

“Huh, yeah, who cares if I _hated_ myself? A B+ average is the rose of success.”

“Do you have an anchor?” Argent asks.

Isaac does not look at Derek. “That’s none of your business.”

“You’re going to do ten sessions with Morrell at school,” Argent says.

Isaac just laughs.

Delilah cuts in. “Grief counseling. Art therapy. Whatever. And if your grades are good, if you have an anchor, and if you follow the rules, then I will support your petition for emancipation. That’s the deal.” She nods in Derek’s direction.

And Derek acknowledges it.

“I’m not agreeing to anything,” Isaac says. He feels like not agreeing to anything ever, ever again.

“This is important to me,” she says. “I need to help you.”

“Except you’re... not.”

“Isaac,” Derek warns.

Isaac doesn’t look at him.

“Let me show you your room.” Delilah stands. “It has a view of the forest.”

“Oh, I can only guess the features.” And yet he stands and follows her. At the very least it will put distance between him and his traitorous alpha. “Are there manacles? Mountain ash? Electrical rods built into the bed for a special tingle?”

/ / /

Back at the depot, Isaac marches straight to his bunk and crawls inside. Not a minute later, Derek is pulling open his door and kneeling at Isaac’s beside.

“Great alpha skills there. Drop your beta in hunters’ hands. You might as well have slit my throat yourself.”

“That’s not what this is.”

Isaac jerks upright. “How can you trust them? How?”

“I don’t. You shouldn’t either. Things can change, but for now, they don’t mean you harm. And it’s…” Derek looks away. “It’s stability.”

“You’re stable.”

Derek straight up laughs. The sound has a wild edge.

“Don’t laugh,” Isaac whispers. “You’re all I have.”

The laugh cuts off. Derek stares. “Which is the problem.”

“Stop. Don’t push me away. We’re pack.”

“I’m not pushing you away,” Derek says, and then, to Isaac’s surprise, he pushes up and rolls in next to Isaac. This is Isaac’s space. It smells like sleep and sex. And yet like he always does, Derek throws an arm over his back. His hand floats up the ridges of Isaac’s spine and rubs at the tension between his shoulder blades. “This is just a temporary solution. It might even help our truce—if you want to call it that—with the Argents. It’s for the pack. Think about it that way. Then when your grades are up, you’ll get emancipated and you’ll be fine.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Isaac still hasn’t forgiven him, but Derek’s touch is exactly what he wants. He arches his back into the five-pronged press of Derek’s hand.

“You’re a werewolf, not a cat,” Derek mutters.

“Don’t stop,” Isaac says, and Derek doesn’t. He keeps kneading at the panels of Isaac’s back, and there’s no such thing as enough. He’s starting to feel gooey.

Well, except for one thing. And by _that_ he means his dick. But Isaac doesn’t want the massage to stop just because he’s popped a stiffy. That’s not cool, so he says, “Do my lower back,” and Derek pushes aside the blankets, repositioning himself so that Isaac is getting not one but two hands. Derek’s fingers carve moats around the vertebrae, pressing deep into the major muscle groups. Those beautiful, beautiful fingers, they know exactly what they’re doing. Isaac’s vision is starting to blur. “Jesus, you’re amazing. Did you get formal Swedish deep tissue or whatever training for this?”

Derek pulls up on Isaac’s shoulders while pressing down in the exact, right spot, and Isaac’s back makes a satisfying pop. “Laura did. She showed me.”

“I never met her. I think I saw her a few times, though, when she picked you up from our house.”

Derek’s palms twist in hard circles down to the coasts of Isaac’s glutes. “I miss her.”

“I miss Cam. And my mom.”

“I miss him, too—but seriously, think about something happy. You’re getting tense on me again.” Isaac doesn’t have to look to know that Derek is scowling.

Weirdly, that makes him smile. “Spending the afternoon with people who think I’m nothing more than a rabid beast does test my good cheer.”

Derek is shaking his head. “Werewolves aren’t supposed to be so tense.”

“You are,” Isaac pipes back—then instantly regrets it.

Derek pauses for three beats before his hands slide up to frame Isaac’s shoulders. “Didn’t used to be.”

“I remember,” Isaac begins, but the push of Derek’s hands causes Isaac’s chin to lift. It’s then that Isaac catches the scent: arousal. Not his. Derek’s. It’s hot in Isaac’s nostrils. His whole brain buzzes with wanting more. Therefore, it’s just another fumble when Isaac says, “Your turn.”

“Still working on you.”

Isaac pushes up. His voice is low, instinctually deep as he says, “It won’t be as good—but I can do the basics.” Isaac wraps a hand across Derek's thigh.

Jerking back, Derek’s reply is a terse, “I’m fine.”

It’s the tone that gets him. Isaac’s face boils. He can’t believe he just—

He is _hard_ in Derek’s bed—

When you put it all together, it means that Isaac just came onto his alpha. Derek’s tone _says_ he did.

God, he’s no better than Erica. It’s just…

Too mortified for words, Isaac buries his face in the pillow.

“I said it’s fine. _Isaac._ ”

Isaac doesn’t want pity. Shaking his head, he mumbles into the sheet, “I’m sorry.”

The mattress rocks, and what Isaac doesn’t expect is the sink of weight on his back. Derek’s larger, broader body. His fingers net into Isaac’s, stretching them out. His lips are at Isaac’s ear. “Is this okay?”

Oh, God. Isaac can’t breathe.

“Isaac, answer me. Yes or no.”

He manages to nod.

“I’m going to miss having you here all the time,” Derek says. “I’m thinking I should get a new place.”

“With a hot water heater?” Isaac’s voice is a gush. His throat is thick with mucus.

“Why?” Derek’s voice goes so, so quiet. Isaac can barely make it out (though he does) when Derek breathes, “Tired of cold showers?”

“Derek,” Isaac rasps, and then he can’t even stop himself. Hands laced with Derek’s, he grinds down. The movement rocks Derek along with him.

“Isaac.”

“Don’t leave. _Don’t_.”

“I should.” He sucks in a breath. “Right now.”

“Don’t.”

Derek noses at the back of his ear. “Like this?” his voice gusts, and then Isaac can’t help his guttural choke when Derek, holding on to Isaac’s hips, drives them forward and down.

“Fuck.”

“That’s okay?”

Okay is not the word. “Fuck.”

“Keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck. Fuck.” And Derek’s is pushing into him, rocking them, and he’s heavy and solid, just like Isaac knew he’d be. His scruff is scratching along Isaac’s cheek. But more than anything, Isaac can feel the hard line of his cock roughing up the crease of his ass. He’s using Isaac as much as he’s helping him, and that realization—that Isaac can help his alpha—help _Derek_ —it just makes him insane with happiness. Isaac arches up, offers his body like an invitation, trying to give Derek a better angle even as Derek is stamping him down _just so_.

“This is about you. Stop—” Derek’s hips force Isaac’s down.

Isaac is thirty seconds from coming—tops—so he gives in—ruts helplessly and forces his diaphragm up and out. His hand shoots out and newspaper crumples in his fist. Derek is grabbing his jaw. He’s holding Isaac’s head at a tilt as he bites down on the back of his neck and snarls in a wet muffle.

The bite hurts and stings and dominates. Derek’s hand is wrapped around his windpipe, and Isaac noses between the balmy fingers, sucking on a tip. He can’t even focus his eyes to fucking _see_.

It takes Isaac a minute to smell past the blood and his own spunk to realize that… Derek came, too. Not only is there a warm tingle through Isaac’s jeans, but the sharp mark of _alpha_ fills his nose. But when Isaac turns over, Derek is staring down like…

Derek looks pretty messed up about it. He’s rigid along the wall, and his palms are open with curled fingers.

Isaac pushes up to his knees, and he says, “That was good. It was good. I liked it.”

Derek says, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“But I feel so much better—I feel good.” He buries his face into Derek’s neck and breathes.

It’s a relief when Derek relaxes into him. After a while, Derek’s index finger finds the edges of the bite mark and plots the shape in slow presses like it’s a map he doesn’t understand. “I should get a cloth,” Derek says at last.

Isaac lies there. He doesn’t move. He lets Derek clean him up, and when it’s time to go to bed, Isaac says, “It’s always okay with you.” He pulls up his shirt and shows off the stretch of his stomach—the blond hair, still damp from the wash rag, that forms a bronze streak up to his naval. Isaac doesn’t care that it’s unfair—the beta wants the alpha to _know_.

“Not stable,” Derek says. “Not stable at all.”

/ / /

Boyd and Erica are missing. They ran away and didn't come back.

Isaac should have known they would leave. It hurts, but he can handle it. Still, what really galls him is that they left Derek.

“They didn’t deserve you,” Isaac says, but Derek doesn’t seem to hear the words.

Isaac wants to be there for him. There are whispers of an alpha pack—Deaton is being needlessly cryptic. Morrell keeps asking him to draw his dreams in their sessions. Somehow Derek’s evil uncle is back from the dead and crashing at Derek’s loft. And to top it all, Derek won’t let Isaac touch him again. If Isaac gets too close, Derek pulls back and asks, “Don’t you have school stuff?”

The answer to that is: _always_. Isaac hasn’t had a second of real enjoyment his entire winter break—because for the teachers who have allowed it, he’s been doing non-stop makeup work. Two days before Christmas, Isaac is copying Stiles’s notes on the French Revolution when Delilah knocks on the door.

“I assume you’re going to Scott’s for Christmas?”

“I was planning on it…” He waits for her to contradict him.

“I’ll be gone for the next two days. I would have told you. But…” Her eyes go distant. Her left hand curls up, and she rubs at her wedding ring. “Something came up.”

These days, Isaac doesn’t hate Delilah. She’s cold. Definitely. But she’s not evil, either. She makes a point of asking him about his progress on schoolwork. She keeps a calendar on the fridge with the moon cycles. Last week she stopped cooking cauliflower without being asked (because she finally took the hint that Isaac can’t stand the stuff (his dad used to make it)). She even gave him a pseudo-Christmas present. He occasionally messes around with an old guitar in the basement, and so she had it polished and restrung. The new shoulder strap is soft leather. Isaac plans on relearning the chords when his schedule isn’t so busy with school. His mom had been giving him lessons before Cam was deployed.

“Did he die?” Isaac points at her silver ring.

She blanches. “No, he’s… he’s alive.”

“Oh, I thought he might have—since you guys are both hunters.”

“We’re—he’s not anymore.” Her gaze is hard, focused on the band on her finger. Her smell is longing.

“Thanks for the guitar.”

“Full moon in three days. Don’t forget,” she says, and then she grabs her keys off the counter and heads for the front door.

/ / / McCall House

They're having a little holiday shindig at Scott's.

Over the past few months, he and Scott have gotten closer. He’s good natured but still laughs at all of Isaac’s drier jokes. So, yeah, Isaac likes Scott, but God, Isaac _loves_ Mrs. McCall. In addition to being cool about the whole fur and fangs thing, she's such a badass, and she is so freaking MILF, and she makes the best hot chocolate. Isaac, leaning back on the couch, says all three of these things to Scott—and has to dodge a decking to his solar plexus.

“That’s my _mom_!”

"Dude, Scott," Stiles is protesting. "You're going to spill crap. Then your mom will be pissed and ground you."

Lydia, uncrossing her legs on the couch, adds, "Besides, nothing Isaac said was a factual error."

Palming his temple, Scott frowns at her while Stiles complains, "Lydia, I'm trying not to get punched by my best friend, and the images you're conjuring are not helping at all. At _all_."

"Stiles!" Scott snaps, hands shaping a noose.

"At least she didn't date your uncle," Derek says as he comes into the room with a bowl of marshmallows.

"The rule is that we never speak of that," Scott half-growls. Then he swipes half the marshmallows from the bowl and pops them in his mouth—because he's an asshole.

"How about we play the _share_ game?" Isaac says.

While Scott smiles with puffs for teeth, Derek takes the spot on the couch next to Isaac and politely hands him four puffs for his hot chocolate.

“Thank you,” Isaac says and he drops them straight into his chocolate. Wrapping his hands around the mug, he watches the white melt away in sticky swirls. Next to him, Derek is doing the same. His thigh is hot along Isaac’s. Isaac wants to press in closer. If Derek would let him, Isaac would curl into his lap and sip chocolate from his fingers. And then some.

“Merry Christmas,” Isaac says. “It’s better than I thought it would be.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s eyes flit to the window. Mixed with the lines of dollar-store lights, a sprinkling of snow still stands. On the driveway, it has long since melted. “It’s so different than New York.”

Derek is talking about his sister. “You miss her. The holidays suck that way.”

“Yeah.” Derek nods. “There’s snow out on the higher hills in the Preserve. In town, it didn’t stick. Laura would have dragged me out.”

“Snowball fight?”

“She was vicious.” Derek smiles.

“I like snowball fights,” Scott interrupts, still chewing through marshmallows.

“If I show up with any more bruises, my dad is going to—“ Stiles pantomimes a heart attack.

“I want to play”—Lydia is sitting upright in her chair‑“but there will be no werewolves throwing snowballs at me. Or Stiles.”

“But you can throw them at us?” Scott snorts.

“You can dodge.” Lydia sets down her mug to turn to Stiles. “Actually, I think we need additional weapons.”

/ / /

Even as they heal, Isaac’s cheeks are stinging. With a laugh, he spits the snow off his mouth then launches the latest ball at Scott—who is clutching Derek’s boot and therefore being dragged as Derek runs. In the meantime, Lydia cranks the snow blower in his direction so that Isaac has to drop and roll. On the other side of the frozen creek, Stiles is using a shovel to sweep chunks of snow at Derek—and Derek, with the snowball bouncing in his fist, looks seconds away from breaking the don’t-throw-snow-at-the-humans rule.

“Don’t,” Stiles says as he launches another volley of snow at Derek. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m soaking,” Derek growls out.

“Not enough!” Lydia proclaims cheerfully, and then Isaac feels a moment of relief as she turns the blower on Derek.

“This is not fair—” Derek mutters with his hands over his face.

Stiles slaps a mocking hand over his mouth. “Hey now, the big, bad alpha can’t handle a couple of fragile human snowflakes?”

In response, Derek’s nostrils flare, and Stiles jumps back with a _meep_.

Isaac takes the opportunity to charge Scott. Well, and then Derek shoots free of the double blasts from Lydia and Stiles, running all the way to the top of the hill and out of range.

Lydia turns off the blower with a click and says, “I want to make a snowwoman now.”

“Oooh, we should find holly berries and give him red eyes,” Stiles agrees.

“ _Her_. With a pine needle skirt. Scott, can you use your magical super powers to get some leaves from that tree? Stiles, find good stick arms.” She points at the nearby tree before turning toward Isaac.

“Busy,” Isaac snaps because even though he doesn’t hate Lydia anymore, there’s no way he’s about to do her bidding. Besides, he has other plans. Isaac charges up the hill—to where Derek is fussing with his hat, trying to brush the snow out. Of course, he sees Isaac coming. He tosses his hat at Isaac’s face.

The moment Isaac catches it, Derek bolts. He drops into a full run as he crashes through a white wall of chamise.

Oh, it is so on.

Isaac sets off in pursuit, chasing the smell. Undergrowth smacks his face, and the dirt crunches and slides beneath his palms as he follows the fleeting sounds of Derek’s trail.

When Isaac crests the next hill, the forest floor is pristine ivory. Not a footprint mars the snow. Isaac is bending into the wind to sniff when a tree branch above him creaks—and then he’s kicked to the side as Derek nails him.

“Wolves aren’t supposed to climb trees,” Isaac yells, even as he jumps back to his feet. “It _cheating_.”

Derek’s answering laugh is wrapped and tucked away by the wind.

At this point they are deep in the forest. There are no sounds of cars or of Scott or Stiles or Lydia. Isaac skitters for balance as he sees Derek sliding down the slope. The embankment is complete ice. Still, it’s a shock to see Derek on his butt with his hands stretched wide overhead.

Isaac tries to slide down standing, but his feet lose traction. He ends up taking the slope in a barrel roll. At the bottom, he collides with a rotten stump. Nearby, a few geese honk as they evacuate a pond. Isaac has only just sat up when he’s shoved back. Derek has him pinned.

With his laughter coming out in crystal chuffs, Derek smells of chocolate and butter candy and cold mineral. His bottom lip is beating red. The layers of clothing fail to barricade the heat of his body, and that’s why it’s just so easy, so mindless for Isaac to stretch his neck and press his cheek into Derek’s.

Derek instantly stills.

But Isaac keeps moving. His hands find leverage in Derek’s pockets. His cheek grates across spikes of cold stubble, and Isaac presses in harder, wanting the animal feeling of fur, needing the hard press of power. Derek’s earlobe is as chill as the air, and when Isaac sucks it in, Derek finally speaks. He complains, “You’re going to give me frostbite.”

And that’s when Isaac knows that Derek doesn’t really want him to stop. Not really.

So Isaac pulls back to draw in the cold plump of his bottom lip. And even as Derek lets him, Isaac is expecting to be pushed away like Erica. Instead Derek groans into it. He pushes Isaac down so that the back of his neck is sunk in soft crystals. Winter’s froth mixes with the sweat on his skin.

For a moment, it is just sugar sweet. Isaac is hot spit and frosted nips. He is the kiss. His mind is a chant of _Derek Derek Derek_.

It’s Derek who breaks away to growl into Isaac’s neck, and after another lock and unlock with Isaac’s mouth, Derek is dragging down his zipper. With shivered breaths, Derek’s throwing open his own coat. The sudden confidence, the hard purpose of his movements—it is all driving Isaac insane. He can’t even get his hands to stop shaking so that he can work on his buckle. When Derek knocks his hands into the snow, Isaac relents with his head lolled back. It’s the most natural thing in the world to let Derek yank them out: first Isaac, then himself. He walls them in with the sides of his coat. His hand isn’t quite wide enough to fit them both in his grip, so Isaac’s stomach provides extra friction as Derek jerks them.

The forest is dead silent except for the crumble of snow from branches and the sharp flares of their breathing.

Isaac wants to tell Derek so many things. He wants to tell him: _you make me feel safe_. He wants to whisper: _I’d let you do anything_. He wants to draw a message in the snow: _I want to share your loneliness_.

When it’s over, when the pearl lines on Isaac’s stomach are starting to glaze from the dry cold, Derek takes a handful of snow and swipes it across the mess.

Isaac screams. Then he yanks his pants up. “I can’t believe you just—”

“Snowball fight officially over,” Derek says.

Isaac tries to kiss him, but Derek backs away.

His face is back to being guarded. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

Isaac smacks a hand over Derek’s mouth. “Don’t say another word.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know what you meant. I know it’s a little messed up. We have… each other. That’s it. Boyd and Erica are gone. Scott is a lone coyote. Lydia and Stiles mean well but… _But_ it doesn’t mean I don’t want you this way. You can’t say I don’t feel that way—I do. And I—I don’t want you to say you don’t feel that way either—because I know you do, too.”

Derek buries his face in his hands. “It’s not that simple.”

Isaac shoves at him. “I want you all the time, and not just in the physical way.”

Derek sits there for a moment before reaching out to grab Isaac and smash his face against his chest. His voice is a whisper as he says, “You have me in all the ways that matter.”

/ / /

That evening when Isaac gets home, it’s to a foreign scent.

Standing on the front porch step with his key in the door, it takes Isaac a minute to decipher: _another wolf. An alpha._

For two harrowing seconds, Isaac catalogues the signals. Not dead. Not a hunter kill. Alive. God, it might be revenge. A wolf coming after Delilah for a past wrong. Isaac doesn't even know what to think about that. He’s got his phone out and is a finger-push away from calling Derek, when he hears the sound: a child’s laughter.

Isaac lowers his phone and turns the key.

In the living room, _Pacific Rim_ is playing on the television. Delilah is curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a book. Isaac is about to ask her when a boy, about twelve years old, skirts around the corner to stare at him with wide eyes. It takes Isaac a moment to realize that he isn’t the only one sniffing. The boy is a were. His mouth, his sharp chin are a perfect match to Delilah’s.

What the fuck?

“You’re Isaac! I’m Keith,” the boy says. “Mom said you are a wolf, too.”

“Keith, your movie started five minutes ago,” Delilah calls from the couch.

Keith doesn’t break his gaze from Isaac’s. “I got the DVD for Christmas. Wanna watch?”

Isaac forces himself to nod. “Sure. It’s _Pacific Rim_. I like _Pacific Rim_. What’s your favorite Kaiju?” He casts a glance at Delilah—he wants to make sure this is _okay_ —but she hasn’t yet looked up from her book.

Keith, meanwhile, has picked up the remote and is back-buttoning to the beginning. “I mean Slattern is the only category five, so that’s, duh, obvious.” He tosses his hands up before just as quickly narrowing his eyes and leaning into his palm. “I guess, if I _have to_ say, then Otachi because she has wings, and that’s seriously cool, you know?”

“Wings are cool,” Isaac agrees.

As soon as the movie is going, Keith curls up right into Isaac. For a second, Isaac is shocked by it, but then, he thinks, this is normal. It’s instinct. This is okay. Isaac curls an arm around Keith’s shoulders and wonders, _how?_

Keith falls asleep before the movie is over.

The credits are playing, and Isaac is drifting off himself when Delilah says, “He got attacked last year. We were north of Yellowstone. There was an alpha. A hunter had shot his mate—don’t ask me if it was Code or not—I don’t know. But when we got the call, the alpha didn’t have a shred of humanity. It had massacred a family campsite. Five dead. Two kids, ages three and seven. We were fast on its tail. Keith’s grandma was the best shot out of all of us, but that was why she volunteered to stay with him.

“By the time we realized it had circled back, gunshots were going off, and the creature was on her. Our car was at the top of the ridge so we could see. Keith—God—he picked up the gun, and he shot it off his grandma—but even with more than five wolfsbane bullets in its chest, the alpha came at him for a final dose of revenge.

“I thought he was going to die. I was holding my hand over his neck and the skin was loose, the blood wouldn’t clot, and I was promising him that he would never be alone. Because I was the one who taught him how to fire a gun. I was the one who said he could come along ‘this once’ as long as he stayed with his grandma. And so it was my fault that he was anywhere close. Death would be a greater consolation than living with the truth that I’d killed my own child.” She pauses to reach down and run her fingers through her son’s hair. “But he didn’t die.”

Even now, what Victoria Argent did makes Isaac feel sick in his stomach. “No hunter could expect you to kill your own kid,” Isaac says.

The flash of her eyes says that he is being naive.

“That’s…” Isaac can feel his nails curling into tips. He forces himself to think of Derek. Or crinkling newspaper and bowl of marshmallows and graveyard promises. He sucks in a breath. “Just because you’re human, that doesn’t mean you can’t be a monster. People like Gerard Argent are monsters. My dad was a monster. But your son is a little boy who wasn’t given a choice. The absolute last thing he could possibly be is a monster.”

“I know that. I do. I just… Well, I talked to Chris, and he told me your story, and…”

Isaac can’t help his grimace. “You thought I’d make good practice?”

“Derek said you would make me understand.”

“So he knew and didn’t tell me. That’s great.”

“I asked him not to.”

“Great.” Isaac thumps his head back against the couch cushion.

“I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me—or judge. I’ve spent my whole life following the code. Every werewolf I hunted had lost its humanity. I’d never needed to see werewolves as people. And… I never wanted my son to see me looking at him that way—as anything less than perfect. Because it wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”

Isaac turns to look at her. Her face is blotchy. Her dark hair is knotted. “What made you decide to bring him today?”

“His dad called. It’s what Keith wanted for his Christmas present.”

Isaac has to look away. Part of him wants to grab Keith and pull him into a hug. He’s not a baby by any means, but he’s such a kid. A little boy. And then Isaac realizes he’s about the same age Isaac was when Cam died. The realization makes the anger die down. “It’s good that he’s here. He seems happy to be.”

She says, “I think we missed each other,” but her eyes say it’s more than that.

“The full moon is really soon.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “That’s another thing. You can say no, but I was hoping you might… help.”

Isaac can’t help his frown. “Keep him corralled?”

“His dad does that. An emissary provides mountain ash.” She scoffs. “Big surprise, Keith hates it. So, actually, I was thinking…”

And that’s when Isaac gets it. “He needs an anchor.”

/ / /

Derek is holding Keith up by the back of his pants while keeping the basketball in his other hand, out of reach. One second Keith is laughing, but in the next he jabs a claw in Derek’s stomach as he pops the ball from his grip.

Hand on his abs, Derek’s voice is crunched. “You—little—“

Isaac blocks the ball at the top of the net. Height does have its advantages.

Except that then Keith knocks the ball out of his grip—sending it bouncing toward Scott, who dodges Derek’s one-armed flail and makes the shot.

“Oh, yeah!” Scott fist pumps. He and Keith high-five.

“I’m calling a foul on that,” Derek says. He points a finger at the blood-stained tear in his shirt.

“Aw, come on. You air-wedgied me.”

“Which is lower than low.” Scott is nodding.

Isaac has it on the tip of his tongue to make a Scott Having Found His Alpha joke when Derek says, “The full moon is in a few hours. We need to head to the Preserve.”

Keith bounces up on his toes. “Can we run there?”

Derek’s fingers clench around his car keys as he frowns. He looks about ready to say no, so Isaac interrupts, “Um, maybe that’s not a bad idea. We can burn off some excess energy. Besides, this will be Keith’s full time out in the open on a full moon, so…”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Derek yanks off his shirt, and his eyes flash red.

\ \ \

They’re deep in the Preserve. Yesterday’s snow has melted, and now the creek trickles from the melt. They’ve found some dry stones to sit on at valley’s bottom.

Keith is twisting two sticks into a spiral. “What’s your anchor?”

“Derek,” Isaac says, and he doesn’t miss the way that Derek flinches slightly.

Keith doesn’t notice. One of his sticks cracks. “What’s yours?” he asks Scott.

Scott opens his mouth, but both Derek and Isaac say, “Allison,” before he can.

“A girl?” Keith wrinkles his nose. “And what about you?”

“It used to be my family,” Derek says—and Isaac agrees that this is a better answer for a kid than _anger_.

“But what if my family isn’t together anymore?”

Isaac is expecting Scott to say something corny, but Scott’s fingers touch on his tattoo as he says, “Sometimes our memory is what makes us the most human.”

“I’ll try and think of my mom.” Keith smiles, lost in thought.

They’re all quiet for a moment until Derek lifts his chin. His gaze sweeps the sky and he says, “Any minute now.”

The moon touches the back of Isaac’s eyes. It slips in, fogs his brain, and then ripples down his spine. The cracking of bones and splitting of skin is a distant roar as Isaac’s fingers become claws in the dirt. The wolf wants to run. Break free.

It’s the steady thump of Derek’s heart that keeps Isaac’s hands on the reins.

As for Keith, Isaac is expecting some trouble. Before the basketball game, Derek confessed he was pretty sure that Keith would challenge him. What Isaac is not expecting is for Keith to tip his nose to the breeze, and upon catching a scent, take off at full speed.

“Crap,” Derek mutters. Then he sets off after him.

Scott and Isaac follow in his wake. Keith has the advantage of being an alpha, but his legs are also significantly shorter.

They’re coming up on the edge of an old quarry when Keith turns on Derek. The little shit doesn’t go for his neck. Nope, he snaps right at Derek’s foot.

Derek manages to backhand him, but Keith doesn’t counterattack. He turns around and keeps running.

“After him,” Derek snaps.

“Your foot.” Isaac points at the bite.

“—will heal. Do you not smell it?” Derek thrusts a hand in the direction that Keith took off in.

Scott, being better at the whole smell thing, gets it first. “Oh, crap. That’s his _mom_.”

Isaac’s heart explodes in his chest. No.

And then they’re all running. Derek’s gait is slowed by his limp. Scott runs but doesn’t stop howling, as if he can call Keith back to them.

Delilah’s smell grows stronger and stronger.

They’ve almost caught up with Keith when they reach the glade where Delilah is standing. Her face is white, her eyes circles of terror. But she doesn’t flinch when Keith charges at her.

Keith hits a wall and flies back.

Mountain ash.

Thank the ever loving fuck.

Except now Keith finally seems to have registered he’s surrounded by another pack of werewolves.

“Keith,” Delilah calls, arms outstretched. “Keith, it’s me. It’s Mom.”

Keith’s eyes seize on Isaac. His nostrils flare, and yes, great, Isaac smells like his mom, his house. Isaac is the designated threat.

As Keith crouches low, Isaac says, “I’m not trying to steal your mom. We’re friends. Back off, Keith. We chose Kaijus.”

Keith’s red eyes show no sign of recognition. If anything, his claws lengthen. Keith goes for his neck.

Isaac dodges at the same time that Derek and Scott leap in from the sides.

In the scramble of limbs, Keith gets kicked and is sent flying into a maple. The whole tree cracks.

“God, Keith! Don’t hurt him!” Delilah cries.

Meanwhile Scott tries to grab Keith—only to get a rake of claws across his chest.

Derek shoves him down, but the boy kicks from the ground. He hits right into Derek’s wounded ankle.

Well, and then Keith is back at Isaac. He is so fast. So difficult to catch. Impossible to contain.

Isaac lands a punch, but Keith just absorbs the impact with a sharp twist. Then he leaps, a claw nicking Isaac’s cheek. Scott comes in, trying to help, but the kid clamps down on Isaac’s arm. The bite is a burst of hot searing agony—and Isaac can tell—he just knows that Keith is going to try and rip—when they feel it: the pulse in the air.

The magic.

Isaac doesn’t have to look to know what Delilah has broken the line.

Keith drops Isaac and pivots.

Derek runs, trying to stop him from getting to Delilah.

Too late.

Isaac can’t watch—he can’t—and yet can’t close his eyes.

Only, as soon as he is within a foot of Delilah, Keith spins on his heels to snarl at Derek.

Derek roars back.

Ducked behind Keith, Delilah is cowering, her whole frame shaking.

Isaac wants to help—but he’s trying to compress his arm. Still, Scott lines up along Derek’s side, and Isaac expects Keith to attack again.

Keith stays planted, snarling and crouching but not otherwise moving away from Delilah.

And that’s when Isaac gets it. “Derek, take a step back. Delilah, talk to him.”

Three confused faces jerks in his direction—Keith is the only one who doesn’t register Isaac’s words.

“He knows it’s his mom. He’s just protecting her.”

“Or he’s defending his prey,” Derek counters.

Scott scratches his head. “If he eats her, he’ll never forgive himself.”

“Wait. Wait.” Delilah takes a breath, and then coming up behind the snarling, crouched alpha, she begins softly chanting, “Keith, Keith,” over and over again.

As she gets close, Keith makes a snarl that sounds more annoyed than anything.

Derek and Scott meet Delilah’s gaze. “It’s okay,” she says.

They take a step back.

Delilah goes back to chanting Keith’s name.

Keith doesn’t stop snarling, but his crouch loses some of its tension as Derek and Scott continue to step back. Delilah puts her hand on the back of Keith’s neck, and he only huffs.

“Keith, you can calm down now. No one is going to hurt me. Isaac is a friend. Derek is just another wolf who’s helping out. Scott there is just a helpful beta. You played basketball with them. You came home because it’s Christmas and I missed you because I screwed up, but we thought this might fix it.”

Keith’s next snarl is higher, longer. Almost a whine.

Delilah continues to stroke the back of his neck. “I was afraid I would look at you and not be able to feel what I used to. But I do, Keith. I love you. You’re still my kiddo. Pretty much the only difference is that you’re going to be a lot harder to discipline these days. How am I supposed to be able to ground you if you can jump out a second story window, huh? Also, Dad tells me you’re eating him out of house and home. But that’s fine. It’s all fine. _Keith_.”

There’s another whine, a faint snarl, and then Keith turns his red eyes onto his mom.

They stare at each other for a long second and Delilah says, “Hey, baby,” and Isaac can feel the shift in scent as Keith shifts back.

Then Delilah is holding him. She’s sobbing into his small frame and holding him like she might never let him go. When her eyes meet Isaac’s, she says, “Thank you.”

In this moment, Isaac thinks that he might forgive her anything.

/ / /

When Isaac’s emancipation papers come through, he doesn’t immediately move out of Delilah’s. In fact, since she and Keith’s dad are working on marriage issues, he volunteers to watch Keith for a week while they go on a trip. Otherwise, being an official adult allows Isaac to finally handle legal stuff left over from his dad’s estate. There is no way that Isaac is ever moving back into his old home, but after some repair work, the house is put up for sale. His grades for the spring semester end up being the best they’ve been since seventh grade. Running track is actually fun for once.

“I feel like I stepped into an alternate dimension,” Isaac says.

They’re at Derek’s loft. Derek is stretched out on an actual couch with the day’s paper stretched like a canopy overhead. “You might be right. The Padres won a game.”

Derek looks so good like this, eyes soft and amused. His t-shirt is bunched up on the side, revealing the edge of his abs. Sometimes, Isaac is glad he has another house with to sleep at. Seeing Derek like this but not being able to touch—it’s enough to drive him insane.

Isaac has figured out that Derek cares about him. It’s why he pushes him away. He encourages Isaac to hang out with Scott because he thinks Isaac needs a friend his own age. Isaac could tell he was happy when the emancipation went through and Isaac hung out with Delilah even more. Derek doesn’t want Isaac to be alone. Even if Derek’s alone except for Isaac.

“I love you,” Isaac says.

The paper stretches and tightens in Derek’s hands. Derek is not looking at him.

“I’m not talking about sex stuff. What you said before—that day—about all the ways that matter—I get that now, but it still doesn’t mean you’re not the most important person in the world to me. Because you are.”

Derek folds up the paper. He drops it on the floor, and then he looks at Isaac. Isaac knows Derek isn’t going to say anything. But the way he’s looking at Isaac is like Isaac is the most precious thing. Like he expects Isaac to shatter at any moment.

It’s exactly what Isaac wants when Derek slides off the couch to wrap him in his arms.

Buried against Isaac’s neck, Derek whispers, “How do you do that?”

“Thank you for saving me.” Isaac presses a kiss into his stubble.

“One out of twenty.” Derek’s voice is so broken.

Shaking his head, Isaac wants to go down the list. He wants to list all of the people who would be dead if Derek hadn’t come to the rescue. He wants to tell Derek for the hundredth time, _It’s not your fault_ , but for now, Isaac settles for, “Let me love you.”

Derek pulls their lips together, and the kiss is long and slow. God, he wants more. He can’t help it, but right now, he knows this has to be enough. Derek has helped Isaac, and now Isaac has to help him. Still, it doesn’t stop him from saying, “Someday, when you’re ready, you’re going to fuck me.”

He gets a swat for that.

But also more kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, this was more character-study-like than I originally intended it to be but I couldn't find many fics with meaty Isaac roles (I'm open to recs, though!), so I ended up drafting a lot of my own head canon for this. However, if you liked this, check out this [Cover Me If There's a Fire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/926820) by nightndaze - it has Isaac going into a heat. Oh, yes.


End file.
